While she dressed, Marcello took the time to walk over to the large heavy curtains, preparing himself for the aching pain he was about to receive when he stepped into the garden. He tensed his muscles and opened them, letting the light spill into the room. His whole body clenched even more as the light hit him, and a small gasp escaped his mouth. The first exposure was always the worst. Slowly, he calmed and although remaining quite tense, could move and smile.

He stepped out of the direct exposure and looked back to them both. "Are we nearly ready, my sweet? Oh, and I would love to hear you sing! My singing teacher gave me her best efforts but to quote her 'I feel your talents lay elsewhere in the arts.'"

Because her back had been turned when he moved the curtains, she missed the grimace on his face, but she heard the sound he made—like he'd touched a hot stove. It was so strange!

Her only guess was that he had some sort of medical condition the public was not aware of. He seemed a healthy, virile man, but there were eccentricities she couldn't account for yet (like his cold skin, whatever was in that vial, and that noise he'd made). Maybe she was thinking too much about it.

"I would love to sing for you sometime! Perhaps when my voice is a bit warmer than this moment though." She giggled cheerily. Her voice sounded like little bells tingling. "And don't feel badly that singing isn't your talent. As previously stated, my drawing and painting is lackluster at best. However, I look forward to seeing yours. Perhaps I might even sit for you someday."

Someone had painted once her as a child with her brother. It still hung in her parents' estate. It had been an arduous process to stand stock still as a child for hours on end, but the end result was breathtaking.

After pinning up a few pieces of hair that were having a mind of their own to one side, she offered her arm to him. "I'm ready when you are..." she beamed.

He dismissed Lucia and took her arm as they walked through the long halls of the palace and eventually to the gardens outside. As soon as they stepped outside, he stopped and disguised his discomfort as if he were taking a deep breath of fresh air. Gripping her arm slightly tighter as they walked through to the veranda.

The gardens were as magnificent as one would expect, with small streams, perfectly maintained grass, a variety of flowers and fruits, even a small path through an alcove that led to a secret flower garden and gazebo. He sat down at the table as they were mid-discussion about the arts. He couldn't help but squint in slight discomfort in the sun's rays, but he would handle it for as long as he could before making an excuse to be inside.

"So after my tutor discovered my passion for drawing, we began importing paints for me to practice with, tireless study and practice has made me quite proficient indeed. I'd love to have you model for me some time, a gift for your parents, maybe? Or just for us, depending upon your chosen pose and attire." Looking at the assortment of food, he couldn't help but feel a little disheartened. This was to be his life for the next few days, maybe even weeks. Lifting an apple, he took a bite and chewed. It tasted flavourless to him.

She blushed at his suggestion, but was smiling ear to ear. "I'm sure no matter the choosing, it will be a magnificent work of art..." she said as she sat down in the chair, biting into an apple herself. "The garden is absolutely beautiful..." she responded, looking around in awe. If she hadn't been so desperately hungry, she would've wanted to explore before settling down for breakfast. However, she was desperately hungry.

"They are," he agreed, looking out to the expanse of garden. All the groundskeepers were simply compelled servants. It made no sense for any of his kind to be working outside, and it was only that very morning he realised how the staff might fit into this new marriage. He had some concerns over a couple in particular; impures that he had relations with, unbeknownst to his parents. There was no risk of conceiving, and he was a man with needs. That was all in the past now. No matter how close they might have been, he doubted any of them would be irresponsible enough to make a scene of it now.

Having really eaten anything to speak of the day before, Natalia ate more than she might at a typical meal. She felt a little self-conscious, as he didn't appear to be eating much at all, but she was famished. The polite conversation continued between bites. "You mentioned combat. What types do you practice? My brother is an excellent fencer and enjoys a good sparring match..."

Marcello watched her as he ate. He tried to manage at least half of what she had but could not bring himself to stomach it. "Well, I started out as just a fencer, foil and saber, but then I moved on to long swords, and now I'm attempting to perfect strokes with a broadsword. My teacher says I have natural reactions, but my technique could always be sharper. He thinks he's very witty." As he spoke, Marcello looked out over the garden. She looked at in such awe, but he knew he would never view it with the same eyes that she did. For a moment, he felt a pang of jealousy at how simple her life must be to appreciate such fleeting beauty, but then it turned to sadness as he realized how quickly he might steal that from her.

"Well, perhaps you should take my brother to task and put him in his place," she giggled, but suddenly realizing they had not spoken of their families yet. "Oh! We met one another's parents yesterevening, but I assume you have no siblings as I've heard none mentioned?" She asked, finishing up the last bites of her breakfast. "I have one brother, older, who brought home a woman I detest some years ago. He found her on one of his trips abroad." She made a mocking motion.

"While she wasn't high nobility, she had some form of status... enough that my mother didn't argue too much when she arrived with our family's signet ring on her finger. To this day, I'm convinced he fell in love with her for no reason except that he'd never seen someone with blonde hair and blue eyes before." She replied, her green eyes sparkling as though she were sharing something truly tawdry.

The talk of her brother made him smile. It was a little foreign to think that other families had problems like his. "Your brother sounds like a man that does not think with his head nor heart. You are the one laughing now, my love. You sit in the gardens of the royal palace, a future Queen while he sits with his blonde hair and blue eyes. At least you both sit with someone you wish to be beside. It is far more than many can say."

He pondered the other part of her question before responding. "I have no other siblings. My mother was only just able to give birth to me. Any siblings and the strain would have been too much." That much was true. His half-sister was a different matter. So few even knew of her existence.

"Growing up with a sibling was nice. Though it's not necessary, I always thought I'd like to have a lot of children. I don't know why. I've always had a sort of... motherly spirit I guess..." she would've liked younger siblings to help care after, but her mother had found it hard to become pregnant again after her.

"I understand difficulties with having children. My mother had a miscarriage between my brother and I and several more after me. Hopefully, I won't suffer any such issues," but it was quite common for women to lose at least one child in their lifetime. She wasn't so sure it wouldn't befall her as well. She just hoped she could give him a strong heir, especially since that was something he seemed very interested in.

It tugged at his heartstrings to hear her say she wanted many children. She was motherly. Of course she was, and he was going to rob her of that. Her own child would likely kill her. Even if she could survive having one healthy child, she'd never have a second. He couldn't remember a single mother who survived the pregnancy and birth without being turned. If, by some miracle, they had, they'd certainly never found the strength to carry again. It made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

He then tapped the table, a habit he had picked up to distract him from the heat crawling on his skin. Not only were small habits and ticks good ways to make oneself seem more alive, but they also were a good mental distraction when facing something he did not wish to face. He had bo doubt she would want to walk the gardens, testing his discipline to the very maximum, but if it was going to happen, it would need to be soon.

Natalia noted he seemed to have tired of sitting as he tapped at the table. "I certainly believe I got the better end of the spouse bargain. However, my brother might disagree with me." She shrugged, pushing the plate aside. "Would you like to take a walk through the gardens? Or perhaps show me some of your paintings?" It was barely mid morning. They had the entire day to spend at their leisure. At least, as far as she was aware, they did.

"Mayhap we should walk the gardens later in the evening. The stars are so beautiful, and I often walk or lie beneath them until its time for bed. For now, I'd love to show you some of my paintings!" He seemed to perk up as soon as he spoke of his artwork. Smiling, he took her arm once more.

Leading her inside, Marcello picked up the pace, almost jogging with her across the palace. He was so giddy, he practically dragged her. Suddenly, he stopped outside an unassuming wooden door that looked as if it faced the front of the palace, out towards the city. Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and grinned gleefully at her before opening it.

It was a tall ceiling'd room with large arching windows all set with heavy curtains outfitted with a closing rope. Lit purely by candlelight, only he and one trusted steward had keys. This was only so he could light the candles before Marcello's arrival and blow them out once he departed the room. Covering much of the room were splendid paintings, most finished but some only half completed, still sitting on easels. Some were framed and hung, while others leaned against walls. They were comprised of everything from cityscapes to portraits to still life.

"So this is my passion," he gestured widely, puffing his chest like a proud papa. "I rarely open the curtains. My guards warn against it, saying something about 'becoming an assassin's dream' if they knew I was so visible at the front of the palace. So, I take small peeks at the outside, and then paint from what I remember." He spoke so passionately, so excited to be sharing his love and long time hobby.

"This is amazing..." she gasped, marveling at all the works he'd either completed or nearly completed. "Though it would terrify me that the candles would set every one of these ablaze, I do genuinely understand the need to not die." she laughed a little before going around the room to admire each piece.

"Marcello, these are amazing..." she brought her face very close to some of them: studying the careful craftsmanship, the varying shades of colors all blended masterfully, the way the strokes brought each piece to life. She looked at each one as if it were the most captivating thing she'd ever beheld.

"And this one..." it was a beautiful painting of a girl. The detail looked as though she might stand up off the canvas. "Who is this? She's beautiful..."

Portraits were scant, but the few that were there were so detailed. This one in particular—she appeared to be mid-word. Her mouth was open ever so slightly, and the way her lips rounded reminded her of someone.

His smile faltered. Of all the pictures she could have chosen, she chose that one. "This one?" He put a hand on the frame, not quite sure what to say. "This was a girl I saw once when I was on a walk through the city." It was a blatant lie, and he hadn't told it very well. If she looked closely enough, she could see the slight similarities in their appearance. They had the same nose, so they had been told; the same smile and cheekbones.

Abrielle.

Abrielle had been the firstborn. Her mother had been common, not royal, and had succumbed to the bloodbath that had been the birth of her daughter. While he'd loved his sister and the time they'd shared growing up in the shade of the palace, it seemed her bloodlust had never been sated since her birth. She had left without even saying goodbye, and it was only after her departure that he had learnt of her ways. She truly embraced what it meant to be a vampire. Never resting, feasting whenever she could, drinking fresh blood without end. Apparently, the only thing that had ever calmed her was her time spent with her little brother. The last he'd heard, she had ravaged her way through France as the famed 'Deaths Kiss', but that had been many years ago.

Natalia knew he'd lied, and she saw the resemblance between them; but she wouldn't push it. It would do no good to upset him. She had thought perhaps it was an aunt or cousin or someone, but there was clearly more to the story. Maybe one day he would be comfortable enough with her to tell her. For now, she moved on, hoping to ease his mind. "And you have so many that you've done! So many you've started too! How do you have time for all of this?" Either he never slept, he was a lot older than she had imagined him to be, or he was the fastest working artist she'd ever heard of. He astonished her more and more each moment she spent with him.

He pushed away the memory to answer her question. "I just sort of make the time. Whenever I need a break or have any spare moment, I spend it here. Surely there is something you would devote yourself to endlessly?" He looked away from the painting and leaned against the wall, a false smile disguising his sadness.

"I suppose..." she replied with a shrug. She had nothing she felt this passionate about. Though the lovemaking from the night before came to mind. She could definitely envision that becoming something she did in all her spare time. Cheeks flushing at the thought, Natalia flashed a flirtatious grin at him, wondering if he could tell what she was thinking about just from the sultry smile on her face.

"Tell me more. Which ones are your favorites?" She asked, looking around at all of them. "And why do you start more than one at a time?"

He saw that unmistakably seductive grin and put an arm around her waist as they walked further into the room. "I paint more than one at a time because there is never just one beautiful thing to capture. One day, I'm painting a flower in its bloom. The next, a particular bird might catch my eye, or the city might be lit in just the right way by the setting sun. I try to capture all the beauty I see."

He turned to look into her eyes, caressing her cheek. "Which is why I would've married you even if the choice had been entirely mine." It was a bold thing for him to say, and she might not believe it. He might appear a sweet talker, but he was starting to believe it to be true.

Letting his hand fall from her face, down her arm, he walked away from her, up to a particular canvas. It wasn't grandiose: just a small, simple painting of a butterfly. "This one might be my favourite. It had been a particularly trying day, very gruelling. Then in the evening I sat in the gardens, and this little creature landed on my cuff. I was still so young and still learning, but it brightened my day. It entrusted me by coming so close where I could see it in such detail. So I mirrored that detail with my brush." His face looked as though it landed on him that very moment, staring at the cuff of his sleeve, then back at the canvas. After a moment, he looked down, rather embarrassed. "I must sound like I'm rambling, the musings of a madman."

As he looked up at her, she shook her head. "You don't sound mad. You sound like a very passionate man, a very talented, handsome, passionate man..." And then his lips were on hers, and she felt her heart soar. As he pulled back, she felt herself leaning into him still, longing for more.